Yes, Mr Uchiha
by wingedmercury
Summary: Don't sleep with the enemy. AU murder mystery set in 1920s New York. SasuSaku.
1. Chapter One: Struck by Lightning

Hello friends! This is a gift fic for the lovely caribbianbeauty17, who provided the title. I'm not exactly sure how this strange little story took hold in my brain, but I couldn't stop writing it. What was meant to be a one-shot will likely be a four-shot. I spent a whole afternoon researching the 1920s, which was pretty fun!

This is a murder-mystery-ish story, but it mostly focuses on Sakura's relationship with Sasuke. Rated T for some gore, so please be warned. You know me though, I mostly keep things PG-13:)

* * *

 _Chapter One: Struck by Lightning_

As Kakashi unzips the body bag, Sakura gasps. She's seen many corpses in her work with the New York City Police Department, but not only does this body seem especially mangled, it also looks unsettlingly familiar.

Raven-black hair is matted down with dried blood, framing a face that might have been beautiful: an aquiline nose broken at a jagged angle, pale lips pulled back in what might be a smile or a grimace. The eyes are gone, and the gaping sockets, thick with congealed blood, seem to follow Sakura as she approaches.

She shivers, though the room is warm, unable to alleviate the feeling that she might have known the dead man. Sakura tries to place the likeness and fails, is just about to ask Kakashi for the victim's name when her gaze falls on the torso, and she exhales sharply.

There are numerous stab wounds to the chest, and though it is gruesome, it's not what startles her. The remaining skin on the chest and arms is covered in a red fern-like pattern that might, to the untrained eye, look like an abstract tattoo. But not only is Sakura the foremost forensic doctor in New York City, she has also seen these markings before.

"Lightning again," she says into the silence. "He must have been struck by lightning." The textbook name for the markings is a Lichtenberg figure, a skin pigmentation that sometimes—though rarely—happens to victims struck by lightning. The markings often subside…if the victims live.

Kakashi grunts in acknowledgment, fiddling with the gold buttons of his double-breasted blue uniform. "I figured as much. But it's always good to have confirmation. The mayor is going to be furious," he says in an undertone, mindful of the other officers just outside.

"And there hasn't been a thunderstorm since August," Sakura mutters.

Kakashi snorts. "It's November, and we're up to our ninth victim."

Nine corpses, all etched with the delicate filigree of Lichtenberg figures.

Sakura shivers again and struggles to maintain a clinical tone. "The eyes are new," she says, turning to face Kakashi—and away from the body. "We've never seen that before."

She wipes her clammy palms on her white skirts and meets Kakashi's gaze. At his veiled expression, her eyes narrow. "You know something," she says.

He fiddles with his high collar, looking as nervous as she's ever seen him. She softens her gaze. She knows it can't be easy being the chief of police—especially when the last man to hold the job died a similar, gruesome death as the corpse on the table.

In the beginning, the string of strange murders hadn't alarmed their former boss, Danzo. The first to die was a notorious crime leader, Orochimaru, his knifed body washing up on the riverside. It was assumed he had been killed in a fight. The papers reported the man's strange, swirling tattoos; later, Sakura had suspected lightning marks, but they didn't correct the news because they didn't want citizens to panic.

When Deidara, a domestic terrorist known for blowing up a bank after robbing it, was found stabbed to death and covered in the fern-like markings in a similar manner, Danzo was quoted in the paper as saying, "Good riddance. Maybe these idiots can kill themselves off so we don't have to."

Next was a bouncer at a speakeasy known, the obituaries said, for his cheesy singing, but the police didn't care much and covered up the fact that he had the same markings as the previous victims.

Everything was quiet for about a month. Then the elderly and retired former chief of police was murdered in his bed along with his wife, stabbed through their hearts, their flesh seared with the tell-tale pattern.

New York was on high alert. Danzo didn't go anywhere without at least two bodyguards, including his own home. For weeks though, nothing happened, and the waiting made it worse.

People had finally started to relax when the murderer struck once again: a little over one month ago, Danzo and his guards were found at his home, knifed to death and skin covered in the strange markings.

It was impossible to cover up the deaths after that, and they could no longer pretend that the murders were not connected. Now the city is in a panic over the serial killer, and the whole police force is jumpy, waiting for the other shoe to fall.

Sakura glances back at the corpse and bites her lip. There's no telling where the killer might strike, but given that five out of nine murders were connected to former police chiefs, it's no wonder that Kakashi is showing his anxiety.

She knows Kakashi can't tell her everything, but he does need to tell her enough to do her job.

Her ire fades. She studies the dead body a final time. "I feel like I might have known him," she murmurs, swallowing against the bile rising in her throat.

Kakashi zips up the body bag, and at his gesture the other officers stride forward to place the victim back into cold storage. Sakura thinks without any real humor how funny that is; she hadn't grown up with a refrigerator, and now, not only is every family going into debt to own one, but they're good for keeping stiffs fresh, too. Frigidaire should add that to their radio jingles.

Sakura winces at the turn of her thoughts, a sign of her black mood, and follows her superior to his office. She takes a seat in front of Kakashi's desk while Kakashi paces around the room, and Sakura, used to his habits by now, doesn't speak until he finally sits down.

"What I wouldn't do to go back to being a private eye again," he says, glaring at his chief of police badge in his hand.

Sakura snorts. "You really want to go back to working under Danzo, that corrupt son of a—"

"It's not that," Kakashi says, still staring down at his badge with three golden stars of rank. He pins it onto his breast again, then stares down at his empty hands.

Sakura looks out of the window, waiting for him to collect himself. From her view on the tenth floor, Manhattan spreads out like a map below them. She trains her eyes on the smokestacks billowing into the iron sky.

When the silence has gone on long enough, Sakura asks, with as much patience as she can muster, "Who was the victim, sir?"

Kakashi sighs, and to Sakura, he sounds like he's deflating. "I hate to do this to you, but I think you actually might have known him. For our sakes, I hope you do."

His words take Sakura aback, and her throat constricts in fear. He leans forward, chair creaking beneath him, and hands her a black and white photograph. For a moment, she just stares. Then, with trembling fingers, she takes the photo.

She studies the face, her brows creasing—and then she freezes. The photo falls from her nerveless fingers, fluttering to the carpet, face up. She can't look away from his face.

"Itachi," she breathes, stomach heaving. Her lunch isn't sitting well anymore.

"You knew him."

It's not a question, but she nods her head yes anyway. Just then the door bursts open, and a disheveled blond head pokes in. It's Naruto, his hat showing the two stars of the assistant chief.

"I just got word—sorry I'm late," he says as he closes the door behind him, moves a stack of papers off a free chair, and sits down heavily. "It's got to be him Chief, and now we have proof."

Kakashi spreads his hands wide. "We've got nothing."

"But—" Naruto sputters. "It's got to be— It's his brother—"

His words jolt Sakura out of her stupor. "Sasuke?" she cries, incredulous. "You think— But why—" she breaks off abruptly, her head swimming. Anger hits her then, and she jumps out of her chair, glaring at the two of them.

"This is crazy! Sasuke hasn't been in New York in years, and I should know, because I tried to find the bastard, but he was just—" She breaks off abruptly, unable to say the words. He was just _gone._

He left her. Without a word. Just…gone. She bites her lip, holding onto her anger, the rage she has been fostering toward the creep all these years. Anger is better than feeling the bitter loneliness and betrayal underneath.

She points an accusatory finger at Naruto, regaining herself. "You think he's killed his own brother? That's bullshit!"

"Calm down," Kakashi demands, firmly, but not unkindly.

"We should start from the beginning," Naruto says, offering her an apologetic, almost guilty look.

Sakura sits back down in her chair warily and clutches the seat with white-knuckled fingers.

Naruto turns to Kakashi and glares. "I still think your plan is screwy, old man."

"That's Chief to you," Kakashi says wearily. He leans back in his chair, props his boots on his desk, and lights a cigarette. One look at Sakura's pale face and he offers her one too, even lights it for her, which shows that he must really be concerned about her.

"Where's mine?" Naruto asks.

Kakashi rolls his eyes and flicks one at him, which Naruto catches dexterously. "Aren't ya going to light it for me?"

As Kakashi tells Naruto to stop being a sap, and as the other man complains about the rough treatment, Sakura's mind whirls.

She had dated Sasuke for three years. She had been a med student, he, business. They had met in the library: she hadn't been looking where she'd been going, and she spilled her coffee all over his term paper.

A month later, she slept with him. A year later, they'd moved in together. Then one day, he had just vanished—his things were all gone, and he never came home. No note. And at that point, his parents were dead, and she didn't know how to find Itachi, whom she'd only met once.

Just thinking about that awful time makes her feel close to tears, even though years have passed. She's never dated anyone else. Swiping at her face, Sakura leans down and picks up Itachi's picture, remembering when she met him for the first and only time.

He had been in from Boston, and she had gone to his parents' house for dinner. Itachi hadn't said much that whole night, but that was the only memory she had of him. And now he was dead, his body a cold, mutilated stiff in the freezer downstairs.

Sakura sucks on the end of her cigarette, eyes watering.

"This is already too much for her, pops," Naruto says. "Can't you see—"

"I'm fine," Sakura interjects, sniffling. She flicks ashes into a nearby tray and spears Kakashi with a look. "Out with it."

Kakashi exhales sharply, a jet of smoke clouding the air. "Naruto tells me you dated Sasuke Uchiha."

Her chin comes up, the defiant effect slightly ruined by a sniffle.

"Did you know he came from a notorious crime family?"

"What? No!" Sakura cries, rising from her seat again. "That's nuts! His dad was a cop! I think Itachi—" her lip quivers, but she forces herself to be strong. "He was a cop too. Served in the war, then joined the force…"

Kakashi shakes his head. "Sasuke's parents were murdered by a rival crime organization," Kakashi says, his voice even, but his eyes full of sorrow for her.

Naruto wraps an arm around her and eases her back into her seat. "Sasuke lied to you," he says. "His dad was in the force for a while, that's true, but he resigned when corruption charges were brought against him. Nothing was ever proven, but it was strongly suspected that he was into organized crime."

Sakura gapes at him.

Naruto sighs, biting his lip. "I've been investigating Sasuke for the past year. I wanted to tell you Sak, but I couldn't—you know how it is. And anyway, I wasn't absolutely sure until recently. I'm sorry," he whispers.

"Why tell me this now?" Sakura asks, forcing her shaking feet to stand. She leans over Kakashi's desk and glares at him, furious and afraid all at once.

"It gets worse," Kakashi says.

How could it possibly get any worse? A wave of dizziness washes over her; she's grateful Naruto is there to help her back into her chair.

Kakashi clears his throat. "Itachi was part of the rival organization." He pauses to suck on the end of his cigarette; when he speaks, his words are wreathed in smoke. "Itachi is the one who killed his parents."

* * *

 _Thanks for reading! Please review ;)_


	2. Chapter Two: Reunited

Thanks so much for your awesome reviews and PMs. It means so much to me. This chapter was an absolute beast to write—between getting all the historical facts right and the character interactions down, it took a while to hammer everything together. HUGE THANKS to **Sakura's Unicorn** for betaing; this chapter is a million times better because of her!

Without further ado, please enjoy the chapter!

* * *

Chapter Two: Reunited

Sakura slides the old shoebox out from under her bed. Usually, she only lets herself go through it once a year on June tenth—the anniversary of their first date—which is months away yet. Kneeling on her bedroom floor, Sakura bites her lip and, with tremulous fingers, opens the box.

On top is a faded black-and-white picture of her and Sasuke that June, sitting on a picnic blanket outside the Central Park Zoo. They beam up at the camera, Sasuke's arm around Sakura's waist, her sun hat falling off as Sasuke leans his head on hers. If she could somehow jump into this picture and stay frozen in that moment forever, Sakura would do so in a heartbeat.

With a painful smile tugging at her lips, Sakura flips to another photo of the same spot one year later, this time a double date with Naruto and his then girlfriend, now wife, Hinata. She doesn't linger to look at this picture. It's too painful, knowing that Naruto is just as in love with his wife today as he was in the photograph, while Sasuke…

She quickly turns to the next image, and her fingers freeze when she finds the picture of her posing with Sasuke's parents. Mr. and Mrs. Uchiha are wearing immaculate white tennis clothes, lips pressed together in smiles that do not reach their eyes. With forced cheer, Sakura waves her racket at the camera, smiling tightly.

Sasuke had taken the picture with a Vest Pocket Kodak when they'd spent the day at his parents' country club. The camera was a birthday gift, the first pocket-sized folding camera of its kind to use a smaller film reel—and Sasuke owned one of the first ever produced, months before it became available to the public. The cameras later went down in price, but Sasuke's parents had remarked often that day to their wealthy friends that they had paid dearly to be one of the first to have one.

Sakura studies the faces of Sasuke's parents as if she can find clues or answers, but they are as expressionless in the photograph as they were in life. Whenever she joined the Uchihas for tennis or racquetball, Sakura always had the sense she was being touted around the country club as an item to show off, much like their son's new camera. She had always taken pains to dress well and to be polite, but Sakura can see now how thin her own smile is in the photo, how anxious her eyes are, eager to please but not sure how.

But if Sasuke ever felt awkward around his parents, he either didn't show it or didn't care. Hands shaking a little, Sakura shuffles to the next picture: a portrait of her, posing with her chin propped on her tennis racket, and this time, her grin is warm and her eyes are soft.

Her vision clouds over with memories, and she can almost hear Sasuke's voice as he tries to get her to smile for the camera.

 _Come on, Sak. You know you're the prettiest girl here!_

 _Aw, applesauce. You know that's not true, Sasuke._

A laugh. _Sure it is! Don't hide behind your racket, Doll. You're the most beautiful girl in New York City._

And the shutter would click, and Sakura would giggle, not caring that Sasuke was being cheesy. She loved the way he looked at her, like she really was as beautiful as he said.

Sakura glances back to the previous picture, the one of Mr. and Mrs. Uchiha. Before his parents died, Sasuke was a different person. Now that she knows the truth—that they were murdered—she understands now, why he never smiled after their deaths. He also never took another photograph.

She squeezes her eyes shut, unable to block out the pain of those last few months after his parents died. How Sasuke would lock himself in his office for hours and wouldn't talk to her. Whole days when Sasuke's eyes seemed to slide right off her. His silence scared her back then, but she thought that he would snap out of it, once the shock had worn off…

She shakes her head. She doesn't want to remember Sasuke like that. Forcing her eyes open again, she comes to a photo that she had taken with his camera, just a simple picture of him drinking coffee in their apartment. He's smiling wryly at her over the top of his newspaper, and there's a gleeful light in his eyes.

She remembers that day. Sakura had been fiddling with his precious Pocket Kodak, squinting through the lens.

" _Don't break it, Sak," Sasuke says as he takes a bite of a bagel._

 _She scowls at him. "So what, the hospital can trust me to do surgery, but using a camera is too hard?"_

 _He rolls his eyes. "Are you going to take a picture, or are you just ganna glare at me all day?"_

" _I'm getting ready for the right moment," Sakura replies haughtily, adjusting the aperture. Sasuke had taught her a few things about taking a good picture, but she is no expert like him._

" _Try and get the exposure right," Sasuke says, leaning one elbow on the table and resting his chin on his hand. "You always overexpose."_

" _I do no such thing," Sakura says, turning down the exposure without making it obvious she's following his advice. But Sasuke must have seen her adjust the dial because he lowers his newspaper and grins, and that's when she snaps the shutter._

This is how he was, her Sasuke, when he still loved her. Always ready with a quip but good-natured, teasing but never unkind. God, but she still misses him. Even after all these years…

A smile creeps onto Sakura's lips when she finds her favorite photo, the one of her and Sasuke ice-skating at Rockefeller Center; he's holding her around the waist, smiling impishly as he pulls down her knit hat over her eyes.

But then Kakashi's words shatter the quiet in her mind like bullets as their bizarre conversation from this afternoon plays again in her head.

" _That's a lie! Sasuke can't be a criminal. He wouldn't have killed his own brother!"_

" _Maybe. I can only hope that you're right. The fact is, we need more evidence." Kakashi sucks in a deep breath. "We want you to go undercover and investigate," he says._

" _But I'm not an agent!" Sakura protests, smashing out her cigarette in the ashtray. "I'm a forensics expert!"_

" _You're all we've got."_

" _It doesn't make any sense," Sakura says, head spinning._

" _And you think it's a good idea to send Sakura in undercover," Naruto grouses, stubbing out his cigarette as well._

 _A muscle twitches in Kakashi's jaw. "She won't need to get in close. He might trust her. And," he adds when Naruto looks like he will object, "she'll be saving lives."_

Sakura shakes her head, staring down at the image of the ice-skating rink full of happy people, the goofy grin on Sasuke's face.

It just can't be true.

A sudden knock startles her, and photographs spill from her fingers to the floor. She leaves them and hurries to the door, opening it slightly without undoing the chain lock. It's Naruto, his hair clinging to his forehead from the misty rain.

"I was worried about you," he says. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," she replies distractedly, undoing the bolt. "I'll put on a pot of coffee."

He looks like he might protest, then yawns widely and shrugs before nodding acquiescence. He hangs his damp hat and trench coat. When Sakura returns from the kitchen moments later with chipped mugs full of steaming coffee, she finds Naruto perched on the edge of her sofa, hands clasped in his lap, staring intently at the murky night through the window.

She sits in an overstuffed armchair, and they sip their coffee in silence for a long time. When Naruto finally speaks, her mug is only half full and the coffee is lukewarm.

"You don't have to do this," he says.

She shakes her head. "Kakashi said that none of the victims were women."

"Doesn't mean it's safe."

"I want to see him," Sakura says, surprised at the vehemence in her voice.

Naruto studies her for a moment, his eyes soft and sad. "I couldn't believe it either, Sakura. I mean, I only knew the guy a few years, but he didn't seem like a murderer or nothing—"

"He's not." She gulps. "There's no way he could be a…" She can't say it: _Killer._

"Yet another reason why you shouldn't go anywhere near the guy. You're biased! I should do it instead."

"No!" Sakura realizes she's standing. She shakes her head, sits back down, and forces herself not to shout. "You've got a wife and kids. Me, I've got nothing."

"Sak…"

"And this bullshit Kakashi's talking about—rumors that Sasuke's into some voodoo or something. He thinks gouging out his brother's eyeballs means Sasuke might be into some kind of occult hoopla! That he's got some magic lightning powers, or that he can hypnotize people! It's all a bunch of hooey!"

Naruto puts down his empty cup and takes her hands in his, the concern etched on his face making her realize that she's been shouting again.

"I don't mean to be hysterical," she says, cheeks coloring.

He pats her hands. "I know you never got over him leaving like that, Sakura. Believe me, I know. Hurt my damn feelings too, what with me thinking we were friends and all."

"I just want to see him," she says. "Talk to him. Find out why he's back in New York. Maybe I'll find a tip and maybe I won't, but at least—" She cuts off abruptly, her throat suddenly too tight to speak.

"You want closure," he says, releasing her hands. He leans back in the couch, looking tired. "I know you do. But it's not… I just don't think it's a good idea."

"I know it's not," Sakura says. "But I know that if I don't do it, I'll regret losing this chance the rest of my life." She smiles at him weakly. "I have to try, Naruto."

#

On the Upper East Side, Sakura emerges from the Children's Hospital at half-past eleven. Her new cover job has been surprisingly enjoyable; it's nice to work with real, living human beings for once. But as she marches down the streets, her good mood sours with anxiety, her gut twisting, her pulse starting to race.

She wipes her clammy palms on her skirt and checks her makeup in the side mirror of a Chrysler B-70. Her lipstick and eyeshadow are unsmudged, her strawberry blonde hair down for a change and falling in waves along her shoulders, despite the current fashion calling for bob cuts. Sasuke always did prefer long hair, she thinks with a twinge.

The closer she gets to the Italian deli, the more her palms sweat and her stomach churns. She smokes a cigarette for courage and strides down the final block. When she opens the door, the smell of pickles and cured meat does nothing for her nausea.

She stubs out her cigarette under her Oxford shoes and makes her way inside, sweat now covering her forehead in a thin sheen despite the chill day. She unbuttons her gray pea coat, unwinds the wool scarf from her throat, and orders a plain turkey sandwich, with no goddamn pickles or mayonnaise, just plain mustard, thank you.

According to their reports, Sasuke eats lunch here every day, without fail, at precisely twelve o'clock. She checks her pocket watch. Only five more minutes until her ex-boyfriend is expected to show up. Not just an ex-boyfriend—a possible murderer. She thinks she might puke; there's no way she can eat this sandwich.

She is so consumed by worry and anxiety when she turns away from the counter that she walks right into another customer. Her sandwich smashes against his crisp Italian suit, mustard smearing his black coat. Her plate falls to the floor and shatters, sending bits of porcelain and clumps of lettuce flying over his designer loafers.

"Oh my God!" Sakura cries. "I'm so sorry!"

She's so flustered, she doesn't have the courage to look up. She takes out a handkerchief and tries to blot away the stains on his lapel, but she only ends up mashing mustard deeper into the wool fibers.

"Oh Christ, I'm sorry! I'll pay for the dry cleaning," Sakura pleads, close to tears, knowing that she can't possibly afford to replace the clothes. "I just started a new job and I'm—"

A strong hand grips her wrist, firmly but gently, cutting off her tirade and her feeble attempts at cleaning.

"Sakura?"

She freezes, like a deer caught in the sights of a gun. Slowly, her eyes travel up the black suit. Up the red tie with the golden clip emblazoned with a fan. Up to the full lips, the strong nose, the chiseled cheekbones framed by black locks. Up to his eyes, hidden by dark-gray sunglasses.

Her breath hitches in her throat. She doesn't have to feign surprise; no, she can practically hear her own jaw thudding to the floor. For a moment, she just stares at him, clutching the mustard-stained kerchief while Sasuke holds her wrist, the contact sending electricity up her arms.

She wants to kiss him, throw her arms around him and embrace him. Then she wants to weep. Then anger floods her, red hot and searing, a volcano exploding unexpectedly and raining down hellfire.

"You fucking bastard!" she roars, surprised by her rage and unable to control it.

He remains perfectly still; his face is a mask of calm. This enrages her even further, especially when he doesn't unhand her.

"You could've been dead!" she blurts out. "You could have been dead for all I knew—you left me no note, no nothing, just walked out on me! Why? Why, goddammit?"

The proprietor of the shop, a big burly fellow with chest hair curling up over the top of his shirt, freezes with his dustpan in hand and backs away slowly from them. Other customers edge away; some slink out of the door before running down the street.

"Sakura," he says softly, the low rumble of his voice like a caress. He opens his mouth to say more, but Sakura won't let him.

"I loved you, you bastard," she says, biting off the words. Tears course down her cheeks, but she doesn't bother to wipe them away. "You are such a goddamn—"

He presses his mouth to hers, wrapping his free hand around her waist, which is fortunate because otherwise, she would have swooned.

When he pulls away, Sakura gasps for breath, chest heaving with her emotional outburst and the impact of that kiss. Her stunned silence gives him an opening to speak at last.

"Good to see you, too," he says, as infuriatingly calm and ready with a quip as he ever was.

She gapes at him. He's acting like they've never been apart—like he'd never abandoned her.

The moment is broken when a man in a well-tailored suit steps forward, tips his fedora to Sasuke, and says, "Mr. Uchiha? You'll be late for your next appointment."

Sasuke curses lowly. "Get me a new suit and coat," he orders tersely. He looks down at himself and grimaces. "And a new pair of shoes."

"Yes, Mr. Uchiha. Right away. And lunch, Sir?" the man says, eyeing Sakura.

Sasuke purses his lips. "Get it to go." He waves his hand dismissively, his eyes never leaving Sakura.

"Yes, Mr. Uchiha," the man says before scrambling away.

Sasuke steps closer to Sakura and trails a finger down her cheek, wiping away her tears. "I can't stay, Doll. Business. But why don't I pick you up at six? Take you somewhere nice?"

Sakura nods dumbly.

"Where are you living these days?"

For a minute, she can't remember her own address. She shakes her head, clears her thoughts, and whispers it to him.

"Wear something nice, okay? You'd look cute in one of those flapper dresses, you know?" When she doesn't respond, he adds, "Okay?"

She just nods, blinking tears out of her eyes.

Then he finally lets her go, and a flurry of men in black suits and coats follow him out of the door.

She stands there, staring after him, the jingle of the door's bell seeming to echo on and on.

The big guy with the dustpan clasps her shoulder. Startled, she looks up at him.

"Lunch is on the house," he says, gesturing to a table. He leads her to it and pulls out her chair for her and she sits, not because she can eat under these circumstances, but because she doesn't trust her legs to hold her up.

* * *

 _Thanks for reading! Please review :)_


	3. Chapter Three: The Years of Loneliness

Oh my gosh you guys, welcome back to 1920s SasuSaku! This chapter just, omg, so hard to write. Special, amazing, standing ovation thanks to my beta **Sakura's Unicorn** , without whom this chapter would not be half as good. And thank you to my readers for your patience as I struggled with this chapter! I hope you enjoy!

* * *

 _Chapter Three: The Years of Loneliness_

"We're going on a date," Sakura repeats for the hundredth time into the receiver.

"Holy mother of…" Naruto's incredulity comes through loud and clear through the tinny phone. "Sakura! You don't know where he's taking you! You don't—"

"I kissed him," she murmurs, voice far away and dreamy.

There's an inarticulate noise on the other end. Then, "I'm coming over."

"You can't! Remember? You'll blow my cover."

"Goddamit, Sak. You can't—"

"We're going to a public place," she interrupts. "I'll be fine."

"Whatever you do," Naruto pleads, "don't go home with him. And Sakura?"

She sighs into the phone. "Mm?"

"Just—try not to look into his eyes."

#

Sakura strikes a match to light yet another cigarette and stares through the apartment vestibule's glass door to the street outside. It's 6:15.

 _Sasuke is fifteen minutes late._

She shifts her new scarlet flapper dress, adjusting the neckline which is low enough to show some cleavage but not too much. It'll take a year to pay off the credit on this dress, and she worries that she can't return it now that's a bit rumpled it stinks like tobacco, which means she won't be able to send as much money as she usually does to her parents. _If they lose the mortgage on the farm because I blew money on a date that never happened…_

She tugs open the heavy glass doors and steps outside, hoping the cold will clear her head. The freezing wind flutters her dress as she leans against the railing, her eyes searching. The streets are still wet from the afternoon storm, and orange street lights cast gold reflections in the puddles and illuminate the banks of old snow bordering the curb. She clamps her cigarette between her lips and drapes her coat across her shoulders, feeling feverishly hot and cold at the same time.

 _He's not coming._

The thought worms its way through her brain and gnaws at her like a parasite. She stubs out her cigarette butt, reaches into her coat pocket for another, and realizes she has already smoked them all. Tears sting her eyes as she rechecks her watch.

 _6:30_

Shoulders slumped, head bowed, Sakura turns to go back inside when a black Rolls-Royce pulls up to the curb and honks twice. Sakura freezes and stares at the car: it's a sublime Art Deco sculpture, like a sleek jungle cat glittering in the streetlight.

A rear window rolls down; a hand beckons from the dark interior.

Heart hammering, mouth dry, Sakura hurries down the steps while trying to make it look like she's not hurrying at all.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Sasuke says, voice smooth as velvet as she sits beside him in the back, the leather upholstery softly brushing her arms and thighs.

Sakura settles back in her seat and stares down at the coat clasped in her trembling hands. "It's okay," she says, nerves making her squeak. "I was running late, too."

The driver pulls away from the curb, and the car glides down the wet street.

Sasuke offers her a cigarette, and with shaking fingers, she loads it into her holder. Fire dances at the tip of his beautiful silver lighter engraved with stylized flames, so she leans forward to light her smoke, but the proximity to him makes her shiver.

"Are you cold?" he asks, pocketing his lighter.

"I…" She trails off. She doesn't know what she is. "How can you be so casual?" she snaps. She takes a long drag of her cigarette and glares at him, though the effect is ruined by the tears gathering in her eyes.

He shrugs, perfectly calm. "Seeing you again, it's like no time's passed at all."

"Except that time _has_ passed—a lot of it." She stares out of the window at nothing, his gaze too intense to hold. How will she ever be able to see if, according to Kakashi's bizarre theory, Sasuke has had surgery to take his brother's eyes as his own if she can't even look at him? Her stomach twists and she shakes her head; she doesn't want to believe that the man she loved is a mutilator of corpses.

The seat creaks as he shifts closer to her. She leans away and crosses her arms protectively, chancing a look at his face, but it's too dark.

"Why'd you leave me?" Her voice cracks.

He's quiet for so long, she almost thinks he didn't hear the question. When the car stops at a red light, she has half a mind to open the door and run, but then, into the uncomfortable silence, he murmurs, "It wasn't personal."

She inhales sharply. "Not— _personal?!"_

"It had nothing to do with you," he explains in that maddeningly serene voice.

Sakura is so livid, she can't even speak. For a moment, her mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out. Finally overcome by anger, she snarls, "You're a bastard, you know that?"

"Yeah." He takes a drag of his cigarette, his next words wreathed in smoke. "I know."

"What the hell, Sasuke? Are you gonna tell me why you walked out on me or not? I swear to God—" He holds up a hand, and she breaks off abruptly. But when he doesn't say anything further, she demands, "Well?"

He leans toward her and wraps an arm around her shoulders. She freezes, as tense as a rabbit who can't figure out if it should stay very still or bolt.

"Let's make a deal," he whispers into her hair.

She shivers. "What do you mean?"

"Just for tonight, let's pretend like no time has passed. Like—"

"Like you never left?" Her breath hitches. "You have a lot of nerve. You could've called me. Or sent a letter. But you didn't. And now you're here, asking me to pretend like you didn't break my heart." Now she's done it—hot tears run down her face, probably destroying her makeup, but she can't stop.

He traces her tears with the rough pads of his fingertips. He leans in to kiss her, and for a moment, she thinks she might turn her head away. She doesn't—instead, she kisses him back, tasting the salt of her own tears on his lips.

When he pulls away, she whispers shakily, "I deserve an explanation."

Sasuke nods as the car slows, pulling up to a well-lit restaurant. "You'll get one. I'll give you the best explanation I can—after dinner, okay? I promise, and I'm a man of my word."

Sakura dries her face with the heels of her hands. "You'd better."

Sasuke gets out first and holds the door open, offering her his hand. "I always keep my promises. You know that."

She hesitates for a moment, then takes his hand. "We'll see," is all she says.

#

Though there is a long line to be seated, Sasuke walks up to the host and nods, and with a "Right this way, Mr. Uchiha," a waiter leads them through a maze of candlelit tables, the soft strains of saxophone and piano mixing with the low mumble of conversation.

The women they pass are decked in jewels and outrageous dresses in bright blues and yellows; it's like walking through a field of wildflowers. Sakura feels awkward among them, knowing that she doesn't belong. The men wear suits and crisp shirts but none, she thinks, look as regal as Sasuke. As they walk, heads turn their way, and a few of the men give nods or salutes; Sasuke waves lazily at them.

A private room in the back is waiting for them, a chandelier of crystal and candles adding just a touch of dim light. Sasuke pulls out a chair for her, and she sits gingerly, perching on the edge of her seat. Though her dress is loose in the flapper style, it suddenly feels too tight, and it's difficult to breathe. Sasuke sits across from her, his hawkish stare making sweat prickle between her shoulder blades.

The waiter ducks out and returns a moment later—with a bottle of wine! Which could get them all landed in jail, since the Prohibition Laws have made liquor illegal.

Sakura gapes as a wine glass is filled with liquid as red as fresh blood, glimmering in the low candlelight.

"It's from my vineyard," Sasuke says, raising his glass for a toast.

"You're a bootlegger," Sakura blurts out. The waiter jumps like a startled frog, slips out the door, and disappears.

Sasuke laughs, the deep rumbling sound thundering in her ears. "My vineyard is in Italy. This bottle is part of a private cache I stored here before the Prohibition Laws." He raises his glass and takes a sip. "It's all perfectly legal. Try it."

Not quite believing him, she swirls the wine in her glass, casting freckles of light on the tablecloth. She takes a sip. "Good God," she breathes. It tastes like roses, like sunshine wrapped in velvet.

His lips quirk into a smile.

"So…you're not a bootlegger?" she asks. When he shakes his head no, she takes another tiny sip and sighs. "I haven't had decent wine since…" She almost says, _since we were together,_ but doesn't.

Quietly, Sasuke tells her about the family vineyard; how he spent a lot of time there, after his divorce.

Her eyebrows shoot up at that.

"So, not only do you have a stash of booze in New York—"

"Please," he interjects, "fine wine."

"—which means you come here often and have for years without ever contacting me," Sakura plows on, "but you were _married?_ " She gawks at him. "Kids?" she squeaks.

"A daughter. She's with her mother in Brazil. I haven't seen her since she was a baby."

"You want me to feel sorry for you or something?" Sakura snaps. "Goddamit, Sasuke…" She trails off.

A wife and a kid: Sakura can almost picture it, and it makes her sick.

"Why didn't you find me when you were in the city? You must have known I was here." The room is a golden blur as her eyes water.

"Didn't think you'd want to see me."

The door opens, and the waiter brings their food. A smothering silence descends.

Sakura has many things she'd like to say, but she doesn't even know where to begin. Instead, she stares down at her plate of roasted chicken in gravy with chanterelles and bits of bacon—it smells amazing, but she's not sure if she can eat yet, so she takes another sip of wine and watches the waiter scurry away.

Sasuke is staring at her again. Slowly, almost against her will, she meets his gaze. For all his stoicism, his eyes look sad. In the pale candlelight, she doesn't see any scars; they do not look like the borrowed eyes of a dead brother, but then, it's hard to see clearly. The light is dim and flickering, casting dancing shadows over his face. And it's been years since she's seen him. Could the light be playing tricks on her? She glances away from him quickly, remembering that Naruto had warned her not to look into his eyes—as if his eyes had the power to trick her—but she cannot keep away. Her gaze travels from the tablecloth to her wineglass before meeting Sasuke's eyes again; they seem to glow a pale red in the candlelight, and he looks more beautiful than ever. A strange wave of dizziness washes over her; her stomach flips and she feels a touch of vertigo, as when an elevator lands too fast.

Suddenly, she is gripped by the thought that she can totally trust him. Yes! Of course, she can trust him! She would know her Sasuke anywhere, and she knows him better than Kakashi, or Naruto, or anyone. Sasuke's eyes are his own, and the only magic about them is that they remind her how she feels about him. She breathes a barely audible sigh.

"Tell me about you," he says, his eyes shifting from ruby to black.

She glances away, sipping her wine. "There's not much to tell."

"You have a new job. You said as much when you got mustard all over my best suit."

Her lips twitch into a smile, and she tells him about working at the children's hospital, how it's better than her old job, which had too much paperwork and not enough human contact—true enough, if you don't count slicing into cadavers as human contact.

He pours her another glass of wine and, in between bites of dinner, they talk about college. "Remember when we first met and you poured coffee all over my history final?" Sasuke asks, a smile playing on his lips.

"As I recall," Sakura says, leaning her cheek on her palm, "I stayed up all night to help you rewrite that paper. So don't blame me that you almost failed that class."

"Funny how you introduce yourself by getting food all over me."

"Coffee is not a food," Sakura quips. "And maybe you should watch where you're going."

Somehow, the first bottle of wine disappears and another takes its place. Sasuke orders a whole chocolate cake with coffee icing and perfect little strawberries baked inside.

"Do you see Naruto anymore?" he asks out of nowhere.

A thrill of panic courses through her. She hides her unease by drinking more wine. "Not really," she says at last. "He's married. Two kids, if you can believe it." She can't keep the wistful tone out of her voice and, because she's tipsy, she says, "We coulda been happy, you and me. You know that? I always wanted kids…" Of course, he had married someone else and done that without her…

He reaches out across the table and takes her hand. She lets her tears fall, the moisture dotting the tablecloth a darker shade.

"I'm sorry," he says after a while. He releases her hand and pours her another glass. She drains it, and he refills it again.

Vaguely, she remembers that she's here on a mission, that Sasuke might have murdered people, but it all seems so unimportant and improbable. All that matters is that she's here with Sasuke, whom she has never stopped loving.

She's not quite sure when they left the restaurant, but she finds herself in the back of his Rolls-Royce, his mouth on hers, his hands spidering down the neckline of her dress. His lips trace her clavicle, her breast. She gasps when he suckles her nipple.

"My place? Or yours?" he asks, a bit breathlessly.

"Yours," she says, not because she's supposed to be spying on him and it's a good excuse, but because her apartment is depressing with its bare walls, linoleum floors, and fluorescent lights. If this is a dream, she doesn't want it to burst in her dingy bedroom; and anyway, the twin-sized bed isn't big enough for two.

No, she doesn't want to return to reality. She'd rather steam up the back windows of the car as the chauffeur drives them to Sasuke's house—in her imagination, it's an opulent, mysterious castle where the night will draw out forever, and she'll forget the years of loneliness.

* * *

 _Only one more chapter after this! Ahhh! Thanks so much for reading, and please review :)_


End file.
